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Poem	Monday, March 13, 1826 The Budget - quite charming and witty - no hearing, For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it; -- Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn't cheering, That all its gay auditors were, every minute. What, still more prosperity! - mercy upon us, "This boy'll be the death of me" - oft as, already, Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy. Tuesday Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers, Lest -- calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts -- The large stock of gold we're to have in three years, Should all find its way into highwayman's pockets![1] Wednesday Little doing - for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art To the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a table -- When the Members all meet, to make much of that part With which they so rashly fell out in the Fable. It appear'd, though, to-night, that - as churchwardens, yearly, Eat up a small baby - those cormorant sinners, The Bankrupt-Commissioners bolt very nearly A moderate-siz'd bankrupt, tout chaud, for their dinners![2] Nota bene - a rumour to-day, in the City, "Mr. R-b-ns-n just has resign'd" - what a pity! The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing, When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin; While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, A murmuring Stock-dove breath'd her ditty: -- "Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow; Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. Who'll make his shroud?" "I," said the Bank, "though he play'd me a prank, When I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roll'd in 't, With many a pound I'll paper him round, Like a plump rouleau - without the gold in 't."
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